Golden Recluse
by Kawaii Youko
Summary: Rumours, lies and mystery arise when Vash doesn't return. The suspicions reach tender ears, and fragile worlds come crashing down. But in this crazy world, who knows what or who to believe? (Angst - Romance; Chapters 1-8 are posted)
1. Grapevine

Disclaimer: Must you remind me that I don't own Trigun or its characters? Sheesh.

A/N (Author's Note): All right. This is my second Trigun fanfic, my first having been "A Fighter's Spirit". For all of you who enjoy reading optimistic, 'fluffy-bunny' writing, TURN BACK NOW. Click off the page. Escape.

Angst and humor lovers, read on, enjoy the fic, and leave me lavish reviews!

**Chapter I: Grapevine**

It's been said that time passes in the blink of an eye, when what we want most is for that moment to last a lifetime. It's gone before your mind even registers that it happened. Once that precious moment's lost, there's no way to ever recapture it. However, as the cruel 'Mistress of Fate' would have it, time seems to screech to a halt and refuse to budge when you're looking forward to the arrival of something wonderful, or better yet, the return of someone special.

'_Do you think he'll come back, Meryl?'_

'_Of course he'll come back; he wouldn't dare keep a good woman like me waiting.'_

The words, once so definite, stung fresh in Meryl's restless mind, as though she'd said them just yesterday, instead of the agonizingly long three months ago.

She remembered rather vividly the day he set off into the horizon, without so much as a farewell; the day Vash the Stampede was last seen, the late Wolfwood's massive cross-shaped arsenal of guns strapped to his back.

Leaning back in her wooden rocker, Meryl gave a soft, despondent sigh.

'_Surely he should have returned by now,'_ she thought, her somber eyes turning skyward.

The twin suns, now residing directly above the small town, shone fiercely, their scorching rays beating relentlessly on the already blistering-hot sand. People in the dusty streets, frying under the suns' ever piercing gaze, darted into local saloons and stores, trying to avoid being caught in the unbearable heat. Even the children, who would normally be playing games in the town square were no where to be found.

"It's.. so hot.." simpered Millie, her tall build appearing in the doorframe.

While Millie herself was something to behold, her height amounting to about six feet, her mismatched clothes were truly attention-grabbing. In attempts to stay cool, she sported a large, paint covered smock, a pair of faded shorts and a magenta bandana, though, it was to little avail.

"I know," the raven-haired woman agreed, wiping several beads of sweat from her brow. "It's starting to look like a ghost town around here."

"Then why don't you come inside, where it's cooler?" the brunette asked, placing one of her large hands atop Meryl's narrow shoulder.

"No," she replied, politely brushing the hand away. "I'm fine; you go inside. I'll come in later."

Knowing the limited capacity of the petite insurance agent's patience, and the instability of her temperament, Millie returned inside, closing the door with an irksome squeaking noise.

Relapsing into quiet thought, Meryl stared absentmindedly into the austere expanse of barren wasteland before her. Rolling sand-dunes lined the horizon, creating an asymmetrical line against the cloudless, aquamarine sky. The endless firmament, so pale and beautiful, struck a delicate chord residing deep within her unconscious memory.

Aquamarine eyes.

_Slowly, Meryl approached Vash, who sat atop a lofty plateau, his eyes fixed intently upon the night sky. His appearance was in disarray. Pieces of blonde hair hung limp in his unshaven face, the remainder shooting off in random directions. Beneath his white, unbuttoned shirt, a bare chest was visible, a mass of gauze wrapped about his stomach. While his features were morose, his eyes retained their entrancing, breath-taking loveliness. Staring deeply into her lilac eyes, she could feel her heart practically stopping._

Scenic memory making the subtle transition into embracing fantasy swept her away, her most secret thoughts appearing true.

_Vash was no longer sitting a few feet away; he was holding her in his comforting arms. Their breathing synchronized; their hearts beating as one. He stared serenely into her eyes, a smile tugging at the corners of his handsome lips._

_With a flourishing motion, his face was merely centimeters from hers. The tips of their noses were practically touching.._

'_Meryl..'_

"Meryl!"

Jolting from the vision, she quickly met eyes with a frantic Millie.

"Oh M-Meryl!" she stammered, tears cascading down her face. "Mr. V-Vash! First it's Mr. W-Wolfwood, and now t-this!"

"Slow down Millie," Meryl told her, rising to her feet. "What about Mr. Vash?"

Unable to answer, the distressed girl's shoulders shook with each sob.

With concern quickly mounting, Meryl grabbed Millie's shoulders in a desperate attempt to stabilize her.

"What about Mr. Vash?!" she demanded, a note of panic in her voice.

"H-he's been k-killed!" the woman cried, holding up the remains of a now terribly smashed radio. "S-someone m-made an announcement t-that he'd b-been captured and s-s-shot outside of A-Augusta! He's d-dead, M-Meryl!"

"N-no," she whispered, releasing Millie's broad shoulders.

"W-what're we going t-to do?!"

Biting her lower lip to keep from crying, Meryl cast her eyes towards the floor.

"There's only one t-thing we can do," she stated, crossing her arms tightly in front of her chest. "We have to g-go back to the Burnardelli Insurance Company. C'mon, w-we'd better get packing."

"O-okay M-Meryl."

As soon as Millie was out of earshot, the dark-haired lady gave a stifled sob, and rubbed her eyes, brushing away several tears.

"How could you?" she questioned, taking one last glance into the unforgiving desert. "How c-could you leave me like this?"

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Chapter Note: Sad beginning, isn't it? Vash is rumoured to be dead, and Meryl's heart is broken. HOWEVER, do not forget, this is ONLY the beginning, and there'll be more chapters soon.

Now, all you have to do is hit that little 'review' button at the bottom of your screen, and tell me what you thought about the chapter. Did you like it? Hate it? Wish Meryl had gotten to kiss Vash in her fantasy? Let me know!

Thanks for reading Chapter I. More will be posted soon. But until then, goodbye, and have a nice day.

Trigun © Yasuhiro Nightow

"Golden Recluse" © Kawaii Youko


	2. Cryptic

Disclaimer: I don't own Trigun, Vash (I wish I did!), Knives, Millie, Meryl, the deceased Wolfwood, Rem, any other characters, Planet Gunsmoke, any of the Seven Cities, the twin suns, any of the moons, Project S.E.E.D.S., the song "Sound Life", voices in the wind, or cryogenically frozen geezers. All of the aforementioned are property of the wonderful and wise Yasuhiro Nightow. However, I do own myself, and my adorable Vash plushie, who gives my inspiration when he's not stuffing his face with doughnuts or salmon sandwiches.. which I don't own either..

A/N: I'd like to thank everyone for their wonderfully helpful reviews! It's great to receive detailed feedback, with lots of comments and critiques. I'm flattered!

Don't forget to read, enjoy, and leave reviews for my story! Nice long ones lead to quick and witty updates! Without further ado, here's chapter two of "Golden Recluse".

**Chapter II: Cryptic**

'_So.. On the first evening, a pebble falls to earth from somewhere.'_

'_So.. On the second evening, the pebble's children hold hands and sketch a waltz.'_

"Sound Life," came a low whisper.

Whispers were, by nature, meant to be soft-spoken and gentle; they were words, passed between lovers in times of restful intimacy. Over relaxed tongues they would roll, placidly leaving the lips as sweet nothings.

This whisper was anything but pleasant.

'_Rem, why can't everyone get along?'_

'_Because people have many different ways of thinking. But even if we do make mistakes, we have the ability do something about it, to make better choices next time. Then if you keep your vision clear, you will see the future. What happens in our future is our responsibility..'_

"Rem.."

Tears ran down Vash's bristly, unshaven face, mingling with coarse sand and sweat, which clung feebly to his outrageously scarred skin. His eyes stung horribly, as he attempted to brush the tears away with the back of his bare hand. The bitter taste of salt lingered in his mouth, burning his chapped and desiccated lips.

'_The splendors of desert life,'_ he thought sardonically, rising to an uncomfortable sitting position.

His body, in its entirety, ached excruciatingly. His head was throbbing painfully, along

with each beat of his heart.

_Lub dub, lub dub, lub dub. _

"Ouch," he muttered, his hand instinctively going to his temple. "That really smarts.."

And it was then, that from the pit of his sinewy stomach, came a monstrously ferocious growl. How long _had _it been since he'd last eaten?

"What I wouldn't give for a salmon sandwich."

Heaving a disenchanted sigh, Vash ran a hand along his exposed torso. Lost in thought, he traced the deep ridges in his raw skin, bits of sand falling into his lap. He was thoroughly fed up with this whole desert business; he had sand in places he didn't even know he had! Yet, in his heart, he knew that he'd brought it all upon himself.

He knew that he had condemned himself to a life of turmoil in the harsh boondocks, rather than endanger any more innocent lives by frequenting towns in the name of 'love and peace'. It was a sacrifice he was willing to make in the name of man-kind.

He could go weeks without a scrap of food if it meant saving a child from going hungry for one minute, and he would go without water for days on end if it meant saving the life of an elderly man, on the brink of death by dehydration. He would endure it; he would live through the pain. After all, he _wasn't_ an ordinary man.

'_You're not a human being, you're a plant..'_

'_I know that.'_

'_You're a superior breed..'_

'_I disagree.'_

And he did disagree. From the bottom of his half-broken heart, he knew he wasn't superior; different, yes, but never superior to anyone else. He was no better than the bartender at a run-down tavern, doing nothing to quell the nightly brawls, and he was no better than the corrupted sheriff, who took weekly bribes to let a gambling ring carry on another day. He was worse; his hands were stained with the blood of the innocent.

Looking down at his hands; the very hands that had caused devastation as Gunsmoke had never known, bereavement swept over him like a sand-storm. It engulfed him, bringing pearly tears flowing to his beautiful, yet troubled eyes.

Trembling violently, he reached out towards his .45 Colt revolver, grasping its metallic surface in his hand. He could feel the cold steel beneath his clammy fingertips, as he tightly clutched the handle, his index finger coming to rest on the trigger. It was this gun that had taken lives from the living. By his hand, the gun had performed the unforgivable sin.

'_Thou shalt not kill.'_

In his mind, he could picture Wolfwood, in his priest's attire, thumbing through the Good Book in search of answers. Hell, he could still picture Wolfwood _alive_! But as fate would have it, he was stolen away from the giant ball of dust, and whisked into the infinite heavens.

Wolfwood wasn't the only one gone, though! There were countless other people; the Gung-ho-Guns, for starters. So many of them had perished; their deaths weighed heavily upon Vash's conscious.

_Legato Bluesummers, Monev the Gale, Dominique the Cyclops, E.G. Mine, Rai-Dai the Blade, Leonof the Puppetmaster, Zazie the Beast, Gray the Ninelives, Hoppered the Gauntlet, Caine the Longshot, Chapel the Evergreen, Midvalley the Hornfreak.._

They were all dead, and he couldn't help but feel responsible as he picked up his dark gray canteen.

After all, he _was_ the $$60 billion man.

He _was_ the infamous Vash the Stampede.

And he _was_ completely out of water.

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C/N: How was that for a second chapter?

True, the rumours of Vash being dead _were_ nothing more than rumours, but in the land of gun shots and sand, should we honestly expect anything else?

Thank you very much for reading Chapter II of 'Golden Recluse'. Now is the time for you to do your part, as the reader, and drag your mouse over to the place where it says 'Submit Review' and click go. You _know _you want to, so go on. Leave me a nice, descriptive review that will make me proud when the alert appears in my mailbox! -

If you follow through with that, there is sure to be another wonderful chapter of this story coming soon! (But that's only **IF** you do what you're told!)

Trigun © Yasuhiro Nightow

'Golden Recluse' © Kawaii Youko


	3. Perserverance

Disclaimer: Sadly, I don't hold claim to any of the following: Trigun, Vash (my sexy bishounen), the late Wolfwood, Meryl, Millie, Rem, Knives, Legato, any of the Gung-ho-Guns, any other characters (alive or dead), Planet Gunsmoke, any of the Seven Cities, celestial bodies, spaceships, Project S.E.E.D.S., handguns, weapons of any sort, salmon sandwiches, doughnuts (love them!), frozen geezers, "Sound Life", any random quotes from the episodes, or pretty much anything else. Thank Mr. Yasuhiro Nightow for the creation of this wonderfully inventive series! (You can just thank me for the fic!)

A/N: Wow! Thank you everyone for your fabulous reviews! I absolutely adore hearing feedback of almost any nature!

In regards to a comment left by "geranium", the reason Vash doesn't have possess a shirt is simply because he shouldn't wear one. For one thing, it's HOT in the desert, so why add to it with a shirt? Plus, I just prefer him that way.. yeah..

Enjoy Chapter III, and for the love of all things Vash-y, leave me some nice, long reviews!

**Chapter III: Perseverance**

'_Clinging to life until the verge of death is probably intrinsic behaviour of all organisms.'_

'_But is it right to live if it means such huge sacrifices?' _

_Exsulo._

Vash's mind often lingered on that question from so many decades past, ever since he had first taken a life, or perhaps, even from the time he first held a gun in his hand. It was difficult to tell when the feelings of culpability and uncertainty had arisen.

It was becoming difficult for Vash to distinguish anything, anymore.

Weak from hunger and dehydration, the Stampede lay, eagle-spread, on the sweltering sand. Hyperthermia, a less than lovely effect of the combined rays of the twin suns, consumed him. As a result, reality and the lunatic hallucinations were impossible to tell apart. Along the barred flesh of his torso and back, both a brilliant shade of pink, heat-blisters were bubbling to the surface.

_Was it right?_

'_No one has the right to take another's life.'_

"Rem.. you're right, Rem," Vash muttered weakly, beads of sweat emerging along his fevered brow.

'_Unless the spider caught the butterfly, it would die of starvation anyway. You can't save __them both, don't you know that?'_

'_You shouldn't make that choice so easily..'_

'_But I'm not wrong! If you keep saving the butterflies, the spiders will die!'_

_Knives._

Even as Vash lay there, battered and beaten by the elements, he couldn't help but feel a stab of anger at the thought of his brother. Knives' calculated face swam into the gunman's field of vision; those cold, emotionless eyes boring into his. That same astringent smirk was drawn taut across his visage; but what did he have to grin about? Was it not his arrogant ways that had driven him to utter madness?

There was no way around it; Knives _had_ gone mad. What else could have compelled him to kill without a hint of remorse? Had he always been a cold-blooded killer?

'_Vash! Vash.. you're crying again..'_

No, once upon a time, he had a heart. He had been capable of emotions, _human_ emotions. At some point or another, he'd felt some type of love – to his twin, to mankind, even to Rem.

'_I'll never understand humans. They're a total waste of life. To think they'd actually sacrifice themselves out of foolish sentiment for others. It's incomprehensible. I thought I'd let her live only because you were so attached to her, but now I see how truly imperfect she really was. It's a good thing she died.'_

'_Don't say that!'_

He had loved her; they both had.

'_Their immigration is out of the question. That'd be like spreading pathogenic organisms across our healthy universe.'_

He wouldn't have let her die..

'_You're saying you planned this?!'_

He couldn't have..

'_That's right. But don't worry. You and I will be fine. I made sure the plant ship will survive. After all, we need that to create our new home, now won't we, dearest brother? Only the ships carrying the humans will crash.'_

"No, Rem.. don't leave me! Come back, Rem.. come back.."

Tears, teetering on the verge of Vash's eyelids, finally managed to break loose, rolling sideways off of his face. Several tiny drops of water refused to depart the blonde man's dirty face by clinging feebly to his eyelashes.

"Don't leave me here alone!" the Humanoid Typhoon cried hysterically, tears further clouding his already hazy vision. "Don't leave me! Come back!"

'_Vash, take care of Knives!'_

"I.. can't do it Rem.. I can't.."

His strength dwindling to practically nothing, Vash let a choked sob escape. His throat constricted; he was too weak to even cry! Whenever he tried to speak, his voice only produced a gurgling sound.

_Come back.._

There was something in front of him, no; it was _someone_ who was blocking out several rays of the blinding sunlight..

_Don't leave me.._

Someone with dark hair was kneeling in front of him..

_I.. need you.._

A _woman_ with dark hair was leaning over him, holding something to his lips..

_I love you.._

He could almost swear it was _her_ pouring the cold water into his mouth..

_Rem.._

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C/N: It's a miracle! I've updated _again_!

For the most part, this chapter is leading up to something – I won't say what, but it is headed somewhere. If anyone had doubts about how Vash felt about Rem, I'm hoping this helped to dispel them. Also, it's meant to reveal some of Vash's feelings about his brother, if you happened to miss that. ;P

I hope you all enjoyed the chapter! I plan to update again soon, **IF** you guys all leave me nice, _long_ reviews!

Trigun © Yasuhiro Nightow

"Golden Recluse" © Kawaii Youko


	4. Renaissance

Disclaimer: I don't own Trigun, Vash the Stampede, Millions Knives, Meryl Stryfe, Millie Thompson, the deceased Nicholas D. Wolfwood, Rem Seiburem (Saverem), the late Legato Bluesummers, the Gung-ho-Guns, Planet Gunsmoke, any of the Seven Cities, Project S.E.E.D.S., "Sound Life", geraniums, frozen people, or pretty much anything that appears in this fanfic! If any of that changes, you, the readers, will be the first to know!

A/N: I'd like to thank CaptainMurphysMistress, Baku, Keosis, geranium and MidgetMinion for their awesome reviews! Thanks for being so supportive of my writing!

Also, just so you know, geranium, this fic takes place after the conclusion of the series. At the end, he takes off his red coat, and tosses it into the air. Under that, he has his black outfit. Well, in heat, black is the worst colour to wear. So, for the record, Vash got hot, and presumably took it off to cool down some. That's why he isn't wearing his shirt.

Here's the fourth chapter of "Golden Recluse"! Read, leave me reviews, and maybe a few favourites would be rather nice!

**Chapter IV: Renaissance**

'_Rem... I will continue to believe in you! But from now on, I'll look to my own words for guidance...'_

_Rem...it's really you..._

It was an impossible dream, believing that she was there. In his mind, Vash knew that very well. He _knew_ that Rem was only a thing of the past, and could never return to the world of the living. He was fully aware who and what had killed the woman of his childhood. However, sometimes thought is performed by the heart, in place of the mind.

Vash could feel the cold, refreshing water soothing his parched mouth, life flooding back into his infirm body. His blood was flowing again; he was once again aware of a pulse, as well as a painful throbbing in his throat. There was a dull ache in the gunman's side, just below his ribs, which served as a lucid reminder of the fact that he'd gone without food for nearly two weeks.

_It's been so long..._

Along the Humanoid Typhoon's stomach was an array of small slashes caused by the coarse sand in the wind. As a result of not eating regularly, Vash's stomach sloped in drastically, his ribs plainly visible to the eye. His all-together gaunt appearance caused his numerous scars to stand out even more than usual.

_And here you are... with me..._

Using what little strength he'd managed to retain, Vash managed a feeble smile.

"I... knew you'd... come b-back," the lanky hybrid stated hoarsely.

_I love you..._

Steadily, Vash's vision was beginning to clear. While his eyes still felt dry and itched terribly, he made an effort to look at the dark-haired woman. Her face drifted in and out of focus, despite how hard the Stampede concentrated. Vaguely, he could distinguish the outline of her body as she wiped several sweaty, gritty locks of blonde hair away from his eyes.

'_This is turning out to be quite a trim! I never noticed before, but you're really handsome!'_

'_Do you think so?'_

'_Hey, I just got an idea, handsome!'_

_Carefully, the raven-haired mentor styled the child's hair into a style which closely resembled the end of a broom..._

'_It's standing up!'_

A weak laugh escaped Vash's now moist lips at the thought of his first haircut, though, the laugh soon turned into a sputtering cough. His throat still ached uncomfortably, but he ignored it. It didn't matter; nothing mattered anymore.

_I've missed you so much..._

"You poor thing," he heard someone say.

Against his rough skin, the humanoid felt a much softer material. The woman, he realized, was wiping his wounds off with a bit of cloth. There was a slight stinging sensation as she poured a small amount of water onto his skin, which traveled through the crevices of his scars, giving an appearance of a river flowing over rocks. Involuntarily, he winced.

"It'll be okay," the placid voice cooed. "Just relax."

_That's... not her voice..._

So many times in his mind had the Stampede hear Rem's voice, almost as if her voice were recorded, and played back at random. Sometimes, at night, the only thing that would bring sleep was the sound of her voice, singing "Sound Life" to him. It was a sound he wasn't likely to forget.

_That's not Rem's voice..._

"R-Rem?" Vash asked, his eyes finally escaping the haze that had masked her face.

_It's not her..._

"Rem?" the stooped woman echoed.

_How could it be?_

Tears of disappointment sprang to his aquamarine eyes, as he gazed at the woman before him. True, she did possess black hair, wavier than he had thought, and was of a similar build to Rem; however, the face was that of another's.

'_No, no! Don't go, Rem!!'_

_Rem was gone._

"What's wrong? What hurts?"

_My heart..._

"Just show me where it hurts," she instructed him, carefully placing a hand atop his.

His chest heaving erratically from the sobs, Vash laid a hand over the metal grate on the left side of his chest, adhered directly over his heart.

"Your chest is hurting?"

He nodded dimly, unable to stifle the strident gasps.

"Try to calm down," she told him, her azure eyes widening. "You have to calm down, okay?"

Thinking quickly, the fair-skinned lady grasped his right hand, and held it against her own chest. He could feel it moving steadily in and out, and he was able to faintly detect her rhythmic heartbeat.

"Breathe with me; listen to the sound of my breathing. You're going to be all right."

Gradually, Vash's sobs faded, and he was capable of breathing normally again. His eyes were closed in thought, as his muscles relaxed. His hand still rest beneath hers, not so much in an effort to regulate his breathing, but more so to stave off his feeling of isolation. As long as her hand was touching his, he knew he was alive.

"Thank you," he muttered, opening his eyes and meeting hers.

_I have to let go..._

She nodded, and smiled faintly.

"What is it you called me earlier? Rem, was it?"

"I'm sorry."

"I'm Amaranta."

Confused, the blonde man blinked up at her. Noticing his bewilderment, the girl smiled light-heartedly, settling into a more comfortable sitting position.

"It's my name. 'The flower that never fades'."

_Impossible..._

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C/N: Another chapter! Yes!

Well, now that you've read the fourth chapter, what do you think? Did you enjoy it? Despise it? Want to pelt me with rotten vegetables? Let me know!

The general rule is, the more reviews you leave me, the sooner I update. If you leave me a nice one, or even add something to your favourites list, the next chapter will be posted very shortly! Thanks for reading!

Trigun © Yasuhiro Nightow

"Golden Recluse" © Kawaii Youko


	5. Paradox

Disclaimer: I don't own Trigun, Planet Gunsmoke, Vash the Stampede, Meryl Stryfe, Millie Thompson, annoying insurance companies, Rem Seiburem (Saverem), the deceased Nicholas D. Wolfwood, Millions Knives, the late Legato Bluesummers, any of the Gung-ho-Guns, flowers, "Sound Life", Project S.E.E.D.S., powerful weapons, cramped buses, geezers, or pretty much anything that makes an appearance in this fic! They belong to the wonderful Yasuhiro Nightow.

Author's Note: I'd like to voice my special thanks to CaptainMurphysMistress, gir, and geranium for their reviews! It means so much to me that you enjoy my writing! I sincerely hope that you enjoy this chapter as well!

**Chapter V: Paradox**

The long bus ride back to civilization was turning out to be a miserable one from where Meryl Stryfe, Damage Claims Adjuster for the Bernardelli Insurance Company, was sitting. All day long, both she and her fellow insurance agent, Millie Thompson, had been forced to endure impossibly hot conditions in a cramped automobile. Not just hot, mind you, but on a bus, filled past capacity with a gathering of cranky old men and women, complaining about how under-appreciated the elderly were becoming in society. Naturally, this meant that patience was quickly dissipating, and tensions were running unusually high.

"Out of all of the buses on Gunsmoke, we _had_ to pick this one," the petite woman muttered, crossing her slender arms tightly in front of her chest.

True, Meryl had been equally irritable before they'd even set foot in the bus station; the current situation was only the bitter icing on the overly-cooked cake.

"It's not that bad, Meryl," the tall brunette replied, a false smile playing across her face. "And besides, it's the perfect time to catch up on your beauty sleep."

"That's easy for you to say."

_You didn't just lose the love of your life._

Almost instantaneously, the artificial smile disappeared from the woman's sun-tanned face. It was within her watery, sky blue eyes that her true emotions could be found. There was no way to conceal it; Millie knew, in her heart, that things _were_ that bad.

"You know, Meryl, when you lose someone you really love, it's okay to feel mad at the world. I felt that way when Mr. Wolfw -- Nicholas died."

"That was a completely different situation, Millie," she lied, hastily making an effort to avoid her associate's eyes.

"Not so different," the larger girl responded wisely, placing a hand atop Meryl's bony shoulder.

Despite Millie's standing reputation for being naive and possessing the innocence of a child, it was becoming painfully clear that she knew the truth. She had picked up on all of the off-hand comments and silent cues over the past months; how could she not have? After all of Meryl's cavorting, making jabs at Vash's faults and _convenient_ interruptions when speaking of the gunman, how could she not recognize the signs of love?

Realizing that there was no point in further denying the obvious, Meryl turned towards Millie. Tears quivered on the verge of her bottom eyelids, prepared to fall at any given time.

"Oh, Millie!" she cried aloud, flinging herself haphazardly into the woman's outstretched arms. Against the said woman's button up, collared shirt, Meryl sobbed freely. "He's r-really g-gone!"

"I know, I know," Millie cooed to the weeping girl, embracing her reassuringly. "Let it all out; that's the only way you can start to feel better."

Around the packed bus, wrinkled, liver-spotted men and women were beginning to stare at the pair of women. Several particularly prim, straight-laced ladies were scowling upon them, muttering about how _some_ people needed to exercise a little self control in public. Others were desperately fumbling for the volume controls on their hearing aids, a few turning them up to full blast in order to catch the conversation, while many turned them down, as to block out the loud wailing.

"I c-can't believe it! H-how could h-he go and g-g-get h-himself k-killed like t-that?" Meryl whimpered, making no effort to restrain her sobs.

"You have to be strong, Sempai. Mr. Vash wouldn't want to see you like this; he'd want you to be happy, and out celebrating life," Millie told her, gently stroking her friend's dark hair. "That's what he would want more than anything, I know it."

"But h-how c-can I?" she stammered, looking into the pair of kind eyes. "I'm n-not that s-strong!"

Aggravation quickly mounting aboard the bus, one of the more unruly passengers rose to his feet. Stumbling towards the two with an unsteady step, the robust man gave a guttural yell.

"Will you _both_ just shut up?!" he growled, vanquishing a fist threateningly. "I'm tired of hearing this whining!"

Still holding Meryl close to her body, Millie dared to look the man square in the eyes.

"You should show a little compassion! This woman just lost someone very dear to her!"

"That doesn't give the stupid wench the right to disturb the whole bus!"

The brunette practically jumped to her feet, having released her grip on her petite colleague. The top of her head grazed the ceiling of the dingy bus, where as, the man merely reached the bridge of her nose. Her expression hardened, as she stood her ground, sheltering Meryl from his gaze. For several seconds, the two merely stared at one another.

"I suggest that you return to your seat, mister, before someone gets hurt," Millie advised, pointing towards the front of the bus.

Apparently weary of invoking the wrath of the Amazonian-sized woman, the man skulked back to his seat, and said nothing more.

"Millie..." came an astounded whisper.

Smiling triumphantly, the girl relaxed and returned to a sitting position beside her friend. Meryl's indigo eyes were wide with surprise, as she stared in amazement at the figure next to her.

"See? Everything will be fine now," Millie stated resolutely, taking the slim girl in her arms. "We'll just have to take things one at a time, that's all."

"You're right," she agreed, wiping her eyes with the back of her right hand. "I'm feeling much better now; in fact, once we get to the next town, how about go out for a few drinks, to celebrate life?"

"That sounds great, Meryl! I'll have a banana-cream pudding!"

_And I'll have a glass of arsenic..._

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C/N: A little deranged, suicidal thought by Meryl there, huh?

Well, did you guys enjoy this chapter? Did you enjoy Meryl's little nervous breakdown? I enjoyed writing it! Now, it's time for you guys to let me know what you think! All you have to do is hit the 'Submit Review' button, and leave me some love!

Thanks for reading this installment of "Golden Recluse"!

Trigun © Yasuhiro Nightow

"Golden Recluse" © Kawaii Youko


	6. Raison d'être

Disclaimer: Obviously, I don't own Trigun. This means, unfortunately, that I do not own Vash the Stampede, Planet Gunsmoke, Rem Seiburem (Saverem), Meryl Stryfe, Millie Thompson, the late Nicholas D. Wolfwood, Millions Knives, the deceased Legato Bluesummers, "Sound Life", geraniums, Project S.E.E.D.S., cranky geezers, frozen people-pops, any of the Gung-ho-Guns, any of the Seven Cities, or pretty much anything that appears in this fanfic! That's why it's a fanfic – I don't own anything!

Author's Note: Well, the cat's out of the bag – Meryl was indeed in love with Vash. In the previous chapter, she admitted her true feelings to Millie, and fell victim to a psychological breakdown. I love torturing the characters; why is that?

Also, thank you to vashie wuver!, iceburger, geranium and Keosis for the reviews. In regards to iceburger's question concerning Knives' whereabouts, the answer shall soon be revealed to those who are patient.

As a forewarning for everyone, this chapter _is_ mostly Knives oriented, meaning there will be sarcasm, egotistical comments, and plenty of slanderous things about the human race. If you, for some reason, have a problem reading angst, or potentially philosophical things, I'd advise you to leave at once. However, if you enjoy peeking into the mind of a deranged psychopath, continue.

I hope you enjoy the next chapter, and leave me some of your thoughts once you've finished.

**Chapter VI: Raison d'être**

_Weaving and dodging hastily amongst the thicket of branches, Vash had never been so thankful for the existence of trees. The towering saviors served as the sole barrier shielding the Stampede's frail body for the salvo of bullets. The fray had lasted several minutes thus far, and to his extreme displeasure, his adversary was showing no sign of capitulation._

_Knives._

_Utterly winded, yet refusing to accept defeat, the man loosely mirroring the Typhoon popped the trigger of his .45 Colt revolver, sending a barrage of sweltering silver in the direction of his brother. Desperation filling the psyche of the schizophrenic sociopath, the pale blonde made attempts at a number of risky shots, hoping to gain the upper hand; but how can you outmaneuver your reflection?_

As far as Knives was concerned, his brother was nothing more than a reflection of himself. Not in looks mind you; as far as physical appearance, Knives had always considered himself far superior. He possessed the astounding intellect his brother so _obviously_ lacked, and whereas Vash's gunmanship was attributed solely to dumb luck, Knives' shooting was perfectly accurate. _He _was perfect.

But you could not observe such perfection by simply glancing into a mirror. You could not take note of the supreme being's impossibly profound thought process, nor would you be capable of _comprehending _the complexity of his campaign against humanity – against the spiders.

Bear in mind that Knives bore no hatred towards the arachnid itself, if anything, he _admired_ the cunning of the creature. The organism was apathetic towards the emotions of others; what reason did it have to care? What reason did a spider have to question the morality of its killings? Why would the creature feel obligated to show remorse for doing what it was born to do? There was no reason; and if there was no reason for a spider to care about the life of its victims, why should _he_?

Essentially, the man was accomplishing the same principle as the spider – he was causing death to postpone his own. Wasn't the basic instinct of life to survive? And in this world, did survival not mean kill or be killed?

Did the humans _honestly_ feel they had the right to question his actions, when theirs were no more commendable? It is pure animal instinct to hunt when one is hungry, not when one simply desired the thrill of the chase. Humans killed for pleasure; _he_ killed to survive. Not that he ate the seething carcasses, mind you, but it was the same concept upon careful examination. He was not killing because he merely wished to; Knives killed because it was his duty, because it was his purpose in life. And from the bottom of his stone-hard heart, he truly believed that.

'_Unless the spider caught the butterfly, it would die of starvation anyway. You can't save both, don't you know that?'_

_Yes, I do._

'_Wanting to save both is a naive contradiction. What would you rather do? Keep deliberating? The butterfly will be eaten in the meantime.'_

_Kill, or be killed._

It was common sense that further proved his theories! Had the butterflies been continually saved from nature's course, the spiders would vanish from the face of the planet. With the spiders wiped out of existence, the butterflies would be able to flourish and reproduce, unchecked. Almost certainly, the population would grow far too rapidly, putting excessive strain on the already depleted ecosystem, causing the irksome insects to ravage the entire planet. They would spread, eventually eating all that there is to be eaten, and through this chain of events, life would cease to exist. By the same reasoning, what was to say that if humans were allowed to populate without regulatory killings, they would not do exactly the same thing?

Never-mind the fact that Gunsmoke's resources were exhausted, it was almost inevitable that the humans would find some way to broaden their existence throughout the _rest_ of the universe. They would jump from place to place, destroying what little salvageable habitats remained.

'_Their immigration is out of the question. That'd be like spreading pathogenic organisms across our healthy universe.'_

In a way, Knives was doing the human race a _favour _by killing. He was eradicating a percentage of the weak; whether they were weak mentally, or lacked something physically, they were weak. Despite what anyone thought, he knew that weakness only begot more weakness, and increased vulnerability meant almost certain death anyway. Besides, who's to say that the people he killed wouldn't have died soon after anyway – perhaps not immediately, but eventually they would have died somehow; it was the fate of all creatures with the exception of two.

_The ones who live outside of time._

He and his brother were those rare exceptions to the law of nature. They could feel pain, of course, but they would never fall victim to death. They would never meet the same end as the creatures around them; they would never experience the bitter taste of the blade.

They were as immortal as the reflection of a person in a mirror; both would remain eternally, as long as the likeness was unbroken.

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C/N: I'm not sure why, but I love writing from Knives' point of view. For some reason, his insanity appeals to me.

Did you enjoy this chapter? Do you feel that Knives' mind was well described here, and his true intentions for killing were well explained? Let me know what you think by hitting the 'Submit Review' button in the bottom left hand corner of the screen.

Generally, the more thoughtful reviews I receive, the more likely I am to post a new chapter. Thank you for reading this installment of "Golden Recluse".

Trigun © Yasuhiro Nightow

"Golden Recluse" © Kawaii Youko


	7. Allettante

Disclaimer: I don't own Trigun, obviously. Therefore, it's reasonable to assume that I don't own Vash the Stampede, Meryl Stryfe, Millie Thompson, the late Nicholas D. Wolfwood, Rem Seiburem (Saverem), Millions Knives, the deceased Legato Bluesummers, any of the Gung-ho-Guns, Planet Gunsmoke, Project S.E.E.D.S., any of the Seven Cities, "Sound Life", .45 Colt revolvers, or almost anything else that shows up in this morbid little story of mine!

Author's Note: Well, did everyone enjoy my little psycho Knives chapter? I'm very aware of the fact that it did not aid in telling exactly what became of him, nor did it reveal his location to the readers, but I assure you, it will become apparent eventually. I suppose the last chapter just provided an insight to Knives' philosophies on killing, which some people might be unfamiliar with, especially if they haven't seen much of the series. Then again, maybe I wrote it just because I have a thing for the crazy ones.

I send my thanks to keosis-chan, Flipkat, and saraki for their encouraging reviews! It's always great to hear what you guys think! A special thanks goes to keosis-chan, because she has left me a ton of reviews on this story, and they're always upbeat.

A warning for this chapter – like most of my writing, it's a bit on the odd side. This chapter I guess is why I put it under PG-13 – nothing serious, I promise. And if you have to take out your anger or frustration on someone, make it either Amaranta, or Eva, my muse. She made me write it, and trust me, don't think I haven't had thoughts of killing of Amaranta already. XP

Now, ladies and gents, it's time for you to read the next chapter of "Golden Recluse". Enjoy!

**Chapter VII: Allettante**

The hours had slowly ticked by, almost unbeknownst to Vash. True, he did register the fact that the suns were sinking below the horizon, and that the creatures of the night were beginning to rise from their catatonic states of sleep, but the realization was only lackadaisical. His mind was distanced from his body and the present state of reality; his cares had momentarily dissipated, and he was left with a rare moment of tranquility.

For the first time in what seemed to be his entire life, he didn't carry the burden of his mistakes upon his shoulders. The Typhoon, who had so long harbored the guilt of lives ended by his hand, felt no shame sitting upon his conscience. It was the strangest sensation, this calm composure. For once, his heart and mind weren't at war over his sins; had he any? If so, he wasn't aware of them.

Nor was he aware of how Amaranta's head had come to rest upon his breast. It was beyond Vash how she had ended up there, in his arms, when he knew little more than her name. Granted, he must have realized that if she was there, he had welcomed it; but then again, when had he ever been one to refuse a woman's affection? Hell, when had he ever been one to _receive_ it?

All he knew was that with her warm body cradled gently against his chest, he could do no wrong. There wasn't any fear of rejection, or any pain clinging to his heart as a result of Rem's death. There was just contentment.

"You know, you still haven't told me your name."

The voice had come from the girl, who now preoccupied herself with tracing one of the many scars etched into the Stampede's skin. He found himself practically shivering at her touch, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. Giving in to the infectious grin, he carefully took her hand in his, and massaged her palm lightly with his thumb.

"It's Vash," he mumbled softly, inadvertently drawing her closer to his bare-chested figure.

"Well, Vash," Amaranta began, withdrawing her hand from his and bringing her right palm to rest upon his left cheek, "I hope you don't think me too easily won."

_Temptation._

"Too easily won?" the gunman questioned, a hint of amusement in his voice.

As the lean man spoke, the somewhat bristly stubble along his chiseled jaw-line brushed up against the tender skin of her wrist. Displaying a toothy grin, the girl of twenty-six slid her arm forward, wrapping it gingerly about his neck. Delicately on his shoulder she leaned her head, so that when she spoke, her lips brushed against the supple flesh of his neck.

"You know what I mean," she replied as she planted a few light kisses on the side of his neck.

_Lure._

It was so long ago that his wounds bled in such a way; not any visible, _physical_ wounds, but those of another kind. And this theoretical 'bleeding' was not the painful seeping of body fluids at all. Whereas when blood spills from a body, a desire to sleep becomes overwhelming, as though the conscious was pouring out of the body as well. _His_ present desires could not be farther from slumber.

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Chapter Note: This is where I cut it off kiddies. See? I gave nothing more than suggestion. You can now pull your minds out of the gutter. While I'm not excruciatingly fond of this chapter in particular, it does have relevance to the plot. It's just about the bond forming between Amaranta and Vash. What will happen next though...?

Did you like it? Hate it? Do you currently wish to pelt me with tomatoes? Let me know what you think! Click that little 'Submit Review' button. I love hearing feedback. Thanks for reading! The next chapter will be up soon, IF I get some nice reviews!

Trigun © Yasuhiro Nightow

"Golden Recluse" © Kawaii Youko


	8. Lealtà

Disclaimer: Insert annoying and utterly pointless disclaimer here. I don't own Trigun, its wonderfully created characters, Planet Gunsmoke, any of the Seven Cities, geraniums, "Sound Life", Gung-ho-Guns (though, they have pretty cool names), .45 Colt revolvers, Angel Arms, random weapons, dead people, or pretty much anything else in this little fic of mine! However, Amaranta is a fictional character of my creation. Interpret that as you will.

Author's Note: Sorry it's taken me longer to update this story. I've had a slight writer's block, and been busy with my art, but I decided I'd force myself to finish a chapter for at least one of my stories this week. So this is the product of a sugar-high authoress, battling the evils of writer's block, and praying for my muse to wake up from her catatonic state.

And sorry, this isn't much about Millie or Meryl right now. I apologize that they've been kind of fleeting in their appearances, but don't fear, I haven't done away with the two. Towards the end of the story, though, I'm sure they'll have much larger roles in the plot.

Thanks to my lovely and supportive reviewers, as always. I really like hearing what you think, and usually, it gives me motivation to write more for you all. On to the next chapter of "Golden Recluse"!

**Chapter VIII: Lealta**

Hearts, long since frozen from the passage of love grow rigid over time. In the places where scars lie, hardening takes place, turning the target of Cupid's arrow to stone. Does love still linger in the hearts of the pained, the abused, and the emotionally numb?

_Torturato sia il mio cuore per una volta amare..._

_... Insensato sia per amare ancora._

- - -

Already the heat was rising as the suns peeked above the jagged horizon, sending the animals of the night fleeing into the safety of the shadows. A streak of vibrant pink was smeared across the early morning sky, a handful of gray clouds set against it, as though flung from the brush of a distraught artist. A faint breeze blew through the barren tract, sand shifting ever so slightly, causing shallow, winding trenches to appear in the ground. The grandeur of the sight was almost breathtaking...

Vash did not observe this beauty, of course. How can one see through closed eyes, stitched shut with unwavering exhaustion? But then, how can one shut out the beauty of the overlooked with the loathsome state in the likeness of death?

_La morte capisco..._

It's the destiny of every creature to die, she had once been told. It was completely logical; everything had an origin, a beginning, so it was reasonable to assume everything had to have an end. Things could not go on living forever after all, lest masses overwhelm the planet, and bring forth chaos of indescribable magnitude.

_Logica capisco..._

Death and all its complicated logistics were nothing new; the sobbing, the lamenting and the grave-strewn sites were just old hat in this business. Not that she didn't ever question her choices, mind you. Numerous times she wondered why she ever started down the path of sins and cynicism, but it had accomplished little more than providing many restless nights of wondering...

Why had it been _that_ bar she'd walked into, in place of any other run-down saloon in New Oregon? Had it been some other dumpy pub, she never would've met the man with the cold smile. And had she never met him, and never agreed to the terms, she wouldn't have ever been in this predicament.

_Ma questo..._

Had she not been so naive, so easily swayed by empty promises of paradise, and of 'Eden', all of this would never have happened.

_Questa sensibilità..._

Had she not been a Gung-ho-Gun underneath it all...

_Non capisco..._

Not royally announced herself as a fool of fate's cruel humour...

_Non desidero causare altro dolore..._

If only she hadn't fallen in love with **_the_** wanted man.

- - -

It was too late for allegations of the heart, far too late to stop it. The heart wants what it wants, and nothing can dissuade the stubborn decision of the creation. And her heart was set on _him_.

"Good morning," came the yawn of a greeting from the blonde man. "Sleep well?"

Something was different about his face, Amaranta noticed almost immediately. The dark circles beneath his eyes were lighter than before, and the frown lines in his cheeks had gone completely. His brow wasn't furrowed in fretting, and his skin didn't appear quite so sallow.

"Pretty well, I suppose. How about you?"

"Best sleep I've had in a long while," he admitted, lightly rubbing the back of his neck with a smile. "Don't feel quite so sore, actually. I thought that crick would never go away."

"I'm glad to hear that," the raven haired girl muttered, closing her eyes and resting her head gently on his shoulder.

"My only complaint is the sand itches," Vash stated, a small laugh escaping his lips. He fluffed the blanket pulled over both of them in a feeble attempt to rid them of the pesky granules. "It's everywhere!"

A faint smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. "I know."

Rightly, or wrongly, she gave little thought to the gnawing sensation in the back of her mind. She ignored the fact that she was going against everything she'd become a part of. But the one thing she couldn't ignore, was the feeling that Knives was watching their every move, scowling.

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Chapter Note: I finished! Time for a victory dance, no? Perhaps the cliffy dance?

Yes, you read right – she's a Gung-ho-Gun. And she loves him. The perfect remedy for disaster, heartbreak, and more of the wonderful Trigun-style angst we've all come to love!

I hope everyone enjoyed the chapter. I'll do my part to write some more to the story soon, if you do _your_ part in reviewing.

Trigun © Yasuhiro Nightow

"Golden Recluse" © Kawaii Youko


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